Hunter's Protege
by DirtyShieldBrothers
Summary: Tyler Black has just started working for FCW, but already he's on the verge of getting fired. Contains swear words, mild violence.


It was only Tyler's third day into his WWE contract, and he was already in trouble. That afternoon, at the training center, Tyler had nearly come to blows with one of the trainers, because there was Tyler's way, (the _right_ way), and the WWE way, (the wrong way). Tyler already _knew_ how to wrestle, he didn't need some washed-up old limp-dick former superstar to teach him that. That was nearly precisely what he'd said. The old guy, Tyler didn't remember his name because he didn't care, had left, Tyler left the practice ring for some cardio. He didn't care much for his fellow students, either, who had nowhere near the amount of experience let alone the _natural_ skills he had, and who'd he felt handled him clumsily. In about half an hour, while Tyler was on a spin bike, Hunter came, and asked to see him in his office. Tyler replied he would be in as soon as his workout was over. Hunter's eyes had narrowed. "We don't work on your schedule, Mr. Black," he said, and his voice was like fire and ice, and Tyler felt his stomach drop a little, and he got off the bike and wiped his sweaty face with a towel.

He followed Hunter in to his office.

"Close that door and sit down." Hunter pointed at a chair in front of his desk.

Tyler obeyed. He felt a drop of sweat run down the middle of his back. The central air was cranked in the office, and Tyler shivered in his wet skin and sweaty clothes. "Hey, can't you-"

 _Slap!_ It seemed louder than a gunshot in the small office, which Hunter had not added much homely touchings or furnishings to. The whole left side of Tyler's face was left red and stinging. Something warm running down his chin, and Tyler saw red droplets splatter on to his sweaty gray FCW t-shirt. Disbelievingly, Tyler touched his split lip, and looked at the blood on his fingertips. Hunter had hit him! "You-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hunter snapped.

Tyler put his towel on his bloody lip, and didn't say anything else. He couldn't believe Hunter had actually hit him, full-on.

"I've been watching you for years, boy, and you know you're here because _I_ wanted you here. Not everyone agreed with my choice in signing you, too controversial, they said, but I insisted, and you're making me look like a fool. You think you're such hot shit."

Tyler helplessly chuckled a little. Yes, he _was_ hot shit, he'd been on top of, or at least made a huge impression, in every promotion he'd ever wrestled a match in. FCW would be no different; he would own it, "The Game" made the right move when he offered Tyler a contract and-

"Do you think this is fucking funny?" Hunter leaned on the desk, an inch away from Tyler's face. He grabbed a handful of Tyler's longish dark hair and yanked it hard. "You're not nearly as fucking good as you think you are, boy. You've been wrestling professionally for what, five years? _I've_ been wrestling almost twenty years! You think you could beat me in a match of any fucking kind?" He let Tyler's hair go, and gave him a shove.

Tyler didn't answer, even though his mind was screaming: _Yes! Yes, damn it, I can, because I'm just that damn good!_

"Well?" Hunter prodded.

Tyler was truthful. He shook his head, and blushed.

"That's what I thought. You'd do better to know your place, kid, and pay attention to those who only want what's best for you, as I do. Otherwise, you're going to be fired, no matter how much I want you to stay, I only have so much say at this point... Which does bring me to another: Why do you refuse to work with the other talent?"

Tyler tilted his head cockily. "I don't want to end my career before it really gets going," he said airily. "With the exception of a few, those guys are dangerous in the ring."

To Tyler's surprise, Hunter nodded in agreement. "With the exception of a few, many are quite inexperienced, but that's why they're here."

Tyler nodded. "Just keep that Jeff Hardy wannabe away from me. He almost broke my fucking neck. He's not inexperienced, he'd just an idiot. I may be a new hire, but I'm _very_ experienced in the business, and I've been very successful, you've seen me win title after title. I _deserve_ to work with the more experienced guys, the ones who are getting ready to move up."

"You cocky little prick!" Hunter slammed the desk so hard a crack appeared in the top, and Tyler jumped. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what the fuck you _deserve_ to do? You _deserve_ to get the fuck out of here. You're talented, one of the best I've ever seen."

Tyler smiled, despite his split lip, and titled his head arrogantly.

"But that doesn't mean you can come in here and dictate what you want and when. There's a way we do things around here, boy, and if you ever want to make into our top promotion, you'd better shut that pretty mouth of yours and do what you're told. Otherwise, I'll send you right back to Ring of Honor," Hunter threatened, coldly. "I haven't quite decided not to do it yet, Tyler. It's only been three days, and everybody besides me wants you gone."

Now Tyler was getting nervous, and broke out into a sweat again. He had nearly made it to the biggest promotion in the world, but he was truly on thin ice. He swallowed hard, and tried not to let Hunter see how scared he was.

"There's a meeting Friday afternoon. One of the topics on the agenda is you, and whether or not you'll be staying with us at FCW," Hunter continued. "As I already said, no one wants you here except me, and I'm beginning to question that myself."

Tyler wanted to cry. He had worked so hard, and it was all at risk of being taken away from him, just because he didn't want to work with guys who would most likely injure him and didn't have his level of expertise.

"It's a shame that your attitude is so shitty, because you're a very gifted and talented young man. You could have a long career ahead of you, at the very top of wrestling entertainment. The only person keeping you from it is you."

Tyler did have respect for Hunter, a man who had contributed so much to the business. Maybe it was time to give shutting up a chance. He certainly felt put in his place, that was for sure; he had no idea how to respond, and there was a lump in his throat, and his vision was turning crystalline.

"You've got two choices, Tyler. You can keep going like you are, and we'll can your ass Friday after the meeting, or you can make the next day and a half a complete turnaround and prove everyone wrong. Your future with WWE is entirely in your own hands. Now get out of my office."

Tyler got up and hurried from the room, chin trembling, eyes threatening to spill over. He nearly ran to the locker room, hoping he'd find it empty. A stroke of mercy and luck, it was; the lights were even out, save the small ones that always stayed lit. Tyler sat down on a bench, buried his face in his towel, and let the tears flow.


End file.
